


I'm Going Down Swinging

by BearlyWriting



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [9]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prompt: Supernatural Fear Inducer, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 21:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearlyWriting/pseuds/BearlyWriting
Summary: "Bruce doesn’t move to attack them. Instead, there’s a strange, low moan that raises all the little hairs on Jason’s arms, like an electric current racing over his skin. Pools cool liquid in his gut. Beneath the sudden pounding of rain, it sounds ghoulish - more animal than human."For the prompt "Supernatural Fear Inducer" for the Bad Things Happen Bingo.





	I'm Going Down Swinging

He sees Dick first, crouched on one edge of the roof in a way that might make Jason’s stomach tighten if it was anyone else. The dark blue of the Nightwing costume blends into the hazy Gotham night better than his old robin costume ever could, but Jason still catches sight of him from far enough away that he probably hasn’t seen him back. There’s tension in the way the vigilante is holding himself: his palms are pressed flat against the rooftop, a grounding base that he can spring himself off of at a moment’s notice, and the muscles of his shoulders are bunched beneath his costume. 

When Jason drops down beside him, without enough finesse to be stealthy, he startles, as if he hadn’t noticed him coming, and almost pitches himself off the roof. It’s enough of a reaction that Jason wonders if Dick’s breathed in whatever Bruce was hit with too. There’s a rebreather over his mouth and nose, but if he got it on a little late, he might be in trouble. Hopefully not – Jason isn’t dealing with two vigilantes infected with fear toxin without any back up. 

“Alright Goldie?” 

It’s impossible to see Dick’s eyes beneath the white lenses of his domino, but his gaze seems steady enough when he turns to Jason. “Shit, you scared me, Hood.” 

Jason eyes him. Looks like Dick was just distracted rather than hit with anything, but sometimes it can be difficult to tell. “Sorry,” he mutters, although he doesn’t mean it. “O called me. Something going on?” 

Dick turns back to face the other edge of the roof again, and Jason gets a shock, jolting right through him like electricity. Because Batman’s crouched right at the edge, mirroring Dick’s pose, although looking considerably less steady. Jason hadn’t even seen him. 

“He got hit by one of Scarecrow’s toxins. It exploded right in his face.” 

Across the roof, Batman twitches at the sound of Dick’s voice. His cowl is still fixed in place. Jason knows that it has a filter built in, but it’s only worth anything if Bruce gets his mouth covered in time. Which he clearly hadn’t. Jason’s own helmet covers his mouth constantly, but… 

“Any of the toxin still about?” 

“No.” Then, as if to prove his point, Dick carefully unclasps the rebreather from his face. With it gone, Jason can see the unhappy twist of his mouth and the already purpling bruise spilling across his cheek like a stain. Dick definitely can’t see Jason’s eyes beneath his mask, but he half-turns, shielding the side of his face from view, as if he can feel the weight of Jason’s gaze anyway. “B took off basically right away. There isn’t any of the toxin up here.” 

“But there’s a load floating around wherever you left it, for anyone to run into.” 

Dick shoots him a withering look that Jason can feel the heat of even behind the domino. “I contained the area before I followed him, obviously.” 

Fair enough. Jason shrugs – as much of a concession as Dick’s ever going to get from him. 

“I caught him up here – managed to get close enough to get him with the antidote, but I’m not sure it’s actually had any effect.” One shoulder lifts in a little, helpless gesture. “We need to get him back to the manor really.” 

“Right. And I’m here because…? Replacement and Demon Spawn on holiday, are they?” 

There’s no reply, but Jason can see the answer written in Dick’s expression. In that painful-looking bruise. Dick doesn’t want them anywhere near this – near a Batman that might be terrified out of his mind, that’s almost certainly going to get violent. Jason isn’t sure if he should be insulted that Dick obviously doesn’t have the same consideration for _him_. 

“Right,” he says again, because he isn’t entirely sure what else to say. “You got a plan?” 

Another little shrug. “Besides just going for it and hoping for the best?” 

It’s definitely not the best plan in the world, but Jason isn’t sure if he could come up with much better. He glances across the roof again, to where Batman is still a strange, hulking shadow against the orange Gotham sky. There’s definitely something unnerving about the whole thing. Jason’s only been hit by fear toxin a few times in his life – and thankfully all before his death because he does not want to know what that would look like as a toxin-induced hallucination – but he’s sure he’d been a shrieking, gibbering mess the whole time. In contrast, Batman is deathly quiet, the only indication of any stress is the faint tremor that Jason can see even through the Kevlar of his uniform. Maybe the antidote had done something after all. Jason really hopes so. 

“He seems pretty quiet right now,” he offers, and gets a pained twist of Dick’s mouth in return. 

“I’m not sure if that means much,” Dick mutters, and there’s something in his tone that has ice trickling down Jason’s spine.

“Right,” he says again, lamely. “We gonna…?”

They both hesitate. Neither of them are bad fighters - Dick’s probably even better than Bruce these days - and Jason knows that together they could probably beat him.

He also knows that Bruce usually pulls his punches. Even as Batman. Especially as Batman. Looking at him now - crouched like a gargoyle, watching them through the narrowed slits in his cowl - Jason can guess he’s not about to pull them now. And he really doesn’t want to have to deal with that.

Still, they can’t leave him out here.

Something plinks off Jason’s helmet. Then another, and another, in rapid succession. Typical. It can’t go five minutes in Gotham without raining. Normally Jason doesn’t mind it too much - his helmet and jacket keep him mostly dry - but now it feels like a nuisance. Especially when Batman startles, as if the cool splash of liquid has finally woken him up.

Beside Jason, Dick goes tense. Jason, too, feels his muscles bunch in preparation. Looks like the choice is about to be taken out of their hands.

Only, Bruce doesn’t move to attack them. Instead, there’s a strange, low moan that raises all the little hairs on Jason’s arms, like an electric current racing over his skin. Pools cool liquid in his gut. Beneath the sudden pounding of rain, it sounds ghoulish - more animal than human.

It’s coming from Bruce and, in a strange way, that’s comforting, because it’s certainly more what Jason had been expecting than the unnatural silence of before. Batman sways, body bowing backwards into the empty space behind him and Jason’s heart throbs. Dick makes a small noise in his throat at the same time. Then he’s lunging forward, arm outstretched, as if he’s going to catch him before he pitches himself off. 

He doesn’t make it across the roof in time to have saved him if he was going to plummet. But Batman, whether through some ingrained self-preservation instinct, or entirely by coincidence, crumples forward instead. There’s a clash of Kevlar as the two collide. A frantic engagement as they struggle against each other. The rain is coming down as one thick sheet now, and it’s difficult to separate the dark figures. Jason squints at them, wondering if he should intervene.

They finally break apart with a sharp cry of pain. Jason can’t tell which one it came from, although he suspects it’s Dick, because he’s clutching his side as he rolls away. Bruce is on his feet, looking strange and unsteady, one shaking arm held out as if to keep Dick at bay. 

“Stay back,” Bruce snaps, and his voice is startlingly clear. “Don’t-“

He cuts of with a grotesque sob that Jason can’t help flinching at. He lifts trembling hands to his face and presses them hard against his eyes, drags them up, pulling the cowl with them, then scrubs them back down with a high whine.

“B,” Dick tries, voice soft as if he’s speaking to a flighty animal. “It’s me B - it’s Nightwing. We’re going to take you home. Just let us -“

He’s edging closer as he speaks. But Bruce’s head comes up, sharp, when he hears the vigilante’s name and Dick slides to a halt.

“Nightwing?” There’s something raw in Bruce’s voice. “No - not - leave him alone.” He jerks forward and Dick scrambles back, slipping against the slick roof.

“Don’t you touch him,” Bruce roars. He crashes to his knees where Dick had been just seconds before. Gloved hands scrabble against the concrete. Jason’s throat tightens. “Please, please - Nightwing! Don’t hurt him.”

Now the cowl is gone, Jason can see Bruce’s face, so pale it’s almost shining in the darkness, except for the angry red flush across his cheeks. Rain slicks his dark hair against his head. Runs over his nose and cheeks and chin. If Bruce is crying it’s impossible to tell.

Dick looks almost as pale, where he’s crouching a few feet away.

“No B, no one’s hurting me.”

Either Bruce doesn’t hear him, or he just ignores him. He’s panting, horrible little moans slipping out on every exhale. Each time he rocks back and forth he drags his fingers across the rooftop in a way that would undoubtedly tear his fingernails apart if he wasn’t wearing gloves.

Dick glances up at Jason, his face white. “Fancy lending a hand, Hood?”

Right. Because Jason’s just been standing there like a lemon whilst his adopted father loses his mind.

He tries to circle around Batman as Dick gets his feet under him, but Bruce looks up at the sound of his name, and his gaze fixes immediately on the blank, red mask that Jason wears. Something flits across his eyes that Jason can’t read, then his whole face contracts.

“You,” he snarls, squinting through the rain, and Jason stops abruptly. Hopefully Dick will take the opportunity while Bruce is distracted. “No. You should be dead.” 

Something prickles over Jason’s skin. He ignores it.

“The acid-“ Bruce moans. “The acid - it should have - I killed you.”

Oh. He hadn’t been talking about Jason, then. Some small, tightly wound part of him feels a trickle of relief at that. Another, even smaller part of him clenches guiltily. Jason had picked this costume on purpose after all, but it’s not the same - hurting Bruce with it - whilst he’s out of his mind on fear-toxin.

“Shit, sorry B. It’s me.” He reaches up to press the quick-release catch on his helmet, but Bruce is already moving. 

The blow catches Jason by surprise. Collides hard enough to whip his head back. Hard enough that Jason’s helmet shatters with a sharp crack they rips all the way through his skull, spider webbing out from the point of impact above his eye. All of the visuals in his mask go dark at once. Jason doesn’t even notice because he’s still reeling from the blow, vision a dark tunnel, head ringing. He lands hard against the concrete.

Batman follows him down.

“You should have stayed dead.” Bruce roars it right in his face, and, despite knowing that Bruce is seeing someone else, he can’t help flinching. It cuts a little close to home. 

Then Batman reels his arm back, and Jason is still disorientated from the sheer strength behind that hit, but he manages to bring his arm up in time to block the next blow. Just. It’s like a sledgehammer against his arm, the force reverberating right down to the bone and Jason knows there’s going to be a bruise there, if he’s lucky. If not, Bruce is about to break it. 

Another hit. Jason’s arm shakes. He kicks out, trying to dislodge Bruce, but the older vigilante is heavy across his legs and Jason can’t get the momentum. 

“B! It’s me - it’s Jason!” He tries, turning his head to look out of the gap Batman created in his helmet. For a moment, Bruce hesitates, and Jason can see the crease of his brow as he considers.

Where’s Dick when you need him?

As if summoned by the thought, Nightwing barrels into the dark shape on top of him and knocks Batman to the ground.

Jason scrambles upright as quickly as he can. Rips his ruined helmet off and tosses it aside, discarding it on the rain-slick roof. Within seconds he’s drenched and it makes it even harder to see what’s happening just metres away.

Bruce is on his feet again. He and Nightwing are trading blows quicker than Jason can track, a dark flurry of movement as they twist around each other. Even on a good day Batman can’t match Dick for speed and agility - and it’s definitely not a good day now - but he makes up for what he’s lacking with the sheer power behind his blows. Dick has to work harder to avoid him because, as Jason now - painfully - knows, one good hit could put him out of commission. Dick doesn’t have a helmet - God knows what a punch like that will do to his skull.

And he’s no doubt distracted by the fact that Bruce is bellowing like a wounded bear between punches.

“Get out of the way,” he roars, throwing a wild punch that Dick easily ducks. “I need to stop him! I’m going to - I’m gonna kill him. I can’t let him...I can’t be too late.“

Dick catches him with a well-placed elbow in the throat. It cuts the words off with a wet choking sound. Bruce staggers backwards, eyes wide, but keeps his feet.

For a painful few seconds, he just stares at them, although it’s obvious he’s not actually seeing them. Even through the rain, Jason can see his eyes are hazed. Then he jerks, making a soft wounded sound in the back of his throat. His hand drops to the edge of his cape and he yanks it up over his face like a shield.

Then Bruce starts screaming.

The sound twists through Jason’s chest. Has Dick flinching backward with wide eyed shock. This is _definitely_ what Jason expects when fear-toxin is involved. That doesn’t make it any easier.

Bruce drops to the floor, cape falling aside as he does so. Now that it’s gone, Jason can see Bruce’s face again, twisted up in agony, eyes white with fear. He isn’t looking at any of them. Instead, he’s focused with single-minded intensity on the soaked concrete in front of him. His hands are claws, scrabbling at the ground again, but with purpose this time, as though he’s trying to dig right through the roof. 

“Where?” he moans. “Where is he?” 

He tears his gauntlets off. Tosses them away from him with careless strength. Rakes his fingers across the concrete hard enough to draw blood. It’s immediately diluted by the rain, turning to a watery pink stream, before it’s pounded to nothing. It must hurt. There’s pain written across every curve of Bruce’s face, clear as day even in the dim light, but he doesn’t stop. Jason isn’t sure if he can even feel it. If he knows where he is, or what he’s doing. 

There’s no recognition on Bruce’s face when Dick reaches for his wrist. Instead, there’s a blur of movement as Bruce reacts, quicker than Jason can really process, ruined fingers closing around Dick’s wrist instead, before he jerks the younger vigilante over his shoulder. Slams him hard against the concrete. There’s a horrible, low, crunching noise as Dick makes contact, and Jason gets a brief glance of his brother’s white face, mouth open - although there’s no sound that Jason can hear - before Bruce is on top of him, obscuring him from view. 

A chill shoots up Jason’s spine. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, how fast their mentor can move. 

“Dick!” Jason’s shout is lost under the roaring of the rain in his ears. If Batman gets a solid hit in…

Jason launches himself towards them. Collides with Bruce with a crash of armour and rolls them both across the roof, away from Dick. Lands on his knees, pressing Batman’s arms against the concrete. A high, sharp keen bursts out of Bruce as Jason pins him. The arms beneath his knees jerk, but Jason leans his weight harder against them and they go still. 

It doesn’t last. Bruce bucks wildly underneath him, without any of the skill that years of training instilled in him. Jason shifts, but it’s difficult to keep his balance with Bruce writhing like a fish, with the rain thundering around them. One arm pulls free.

Jason snaps his own arm up in time to block another blow. It’s less of a sledgehammer this time, with Bruce pinned awkwardly beneath him, but it’s still hard enough to throb pain all the way up to Jason’s shoulder. His other hand scrabbles at his jacket. Across the roof, Dick is sprawled against the concrete, lying too still. If Bruce knocks Jason out, it’s not likely that Dick will be able to come to his rescue. He has to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Finally, Jason pulls his taser free. Presses it hard into the vulnerable spot where he knows Bruce prioritised movement over armour beneath his armpit. The arm jerks as Bruce seizes, then goes abruptly limp. Jason pulls the taser away, palm sliding against wet plastic, but doesn’t tuck it back into his jacket. That was the lowest setting - meant to deliver a shock, but not likely to incapacitate anyone. It certainly wouldn’t put Batman down.

When he glances back at Bruce’s face, his eyes are still open, just as Jason knew they would be. But he isn’t fighting anymore. His throat is working in long, wet swallows and he’s blinking quickly. The free arm lifts again, even though the shock of the taser must still be hurting him, and Jason catches his wrist easily in the hand that isn’t still gripping the weapon.

“Jay,” Bruce murmurs, low beneath the rushing of the rain. It’s an awful, ragged sound. “Jay. Jason.” His arm twists in Jason’s grip.

“Shut up, old man.” Dick’s been quiet for a long time - worryingly long. The last thing Jason needs is for Batman to have caused any permanent damage. He glances across the roof, to where the other vigilante is. But he isn’t there.

“Did you have to use the taser Jay?”

The sudden appearance of Nightwing at his shoulder startles Jason badly enough that his knee slips. Bruce takes advantage, of course, because even out of his mind he’s still _Batman_. His arm lashes out. Before Jason can do more than flinch it clamps around his back, drags him forward and presses him so tight against his chest that all the breath bursts from his lungs. Jason tries to roll with the movement, but Batman’s grip is like iron and it’s impossible to pull himself free.

“Shit.” There are light footsteps as Nightwing circles around, dropping to his knees at Bruce’s head. Bruce isn’t attacking though. He’s just...holding Jason against his chest.

Fingers brush against Jason’s sodden hair and Bruce goes stiff. They must be Dick’s - probably holding Bruce’s shoulders down - although Jason can’t actually see what’s happening, with his face pressed against Batman’s armour.

“Dick.” The name rumbles through Bruce’s chest. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re gonna take you back to-“

“No. You can’t be here.” The arm around Jason's back tightens. Even with his own armour on, Jason can feel his ribs creak. “You’re not-“ a wet, choking gasp, “you’re not dead. You can’t be here.”

“B, we’re not-“ The words cut off when Bruce screams, so loud and close that Jason feels it as a physical pressure against his ear, as if Bruce is trying to reach right into his brain.

He keeps screaming as Jason struggles out of his grasp. As he helps Dick restrain him, writhing like an eel beneath their hands. As Jason tugs his cowl back over his white face. As they drag him, inch by painful inch, across the rooftops until they finally reach the Batmobile, tucked into the shadows of an alley that, with Bruce struggling and screaming in their arms, feels an eternity away.

Even with his arms bound, Batman manages to land a solid blow against Jason’s jaw as he struggles to force him inside. It rattles all of the teeth in Jason’s skull, and he’ll have a bruise to match Dick’s soon, but there’s not enough power behind it to do any real damage, and Jason throws his weight over him before he can try it again.

“Don’t,” Bruce whimpers, and Jason grinds his teeth hard enough that they creak. “Let me help them. Please. Please don’t hurt them.”

Even if Jason had an answer to that, Bruce wouldn't hear it. Dick slides into the driver's seat and Jason shifts to press Bruce more securely against the seats. On a good day, Dick’s driving tends towards erratic.

“Please." Tears slip out from under the cowl. Batman writhes in his hold.

Exhaustion crashes over Jason so suddenly that he almost collapses. He’s tired, he realises, staring down at Bruce’s drawn face. Tired of fighting. Tired of this frightened, vulnerable Bruce.

“Next time," he snarls, not even sure exactly who he's talking to, "get Replacement to help you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed :)
> 
> I have a tumblr at [bearly-writing](https://bearly-writing.tumblr.com/) if you fancy dropping by for a chat, or to request a Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt!


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